


Are you a pirate?

by dave_peta



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Hal is Scottish, Ill update tags as i go, M/M, POV Second Person, Pirate AU, Pirates, Present Tense, Slow Burn, davesprites name is Danny, honestly hal is just my boyfriend, yall know this bitch does NOT plan ahead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dave_peta/pseuds/dave_peta
Summary: The nights are loud and musical, rum passed around like candy, lanterns lit to give the boat a homely orange glow in the deep blue ocean night. You can’t say it looks any different than the street lamps over the cobblestone path, but it certainly feels different.Your name is Danny. You're pretty sure you're a pirate now.
Relationships: Auto-Responder | Lil Hal/Davesprite
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. Roll Credits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mysteryfucker420](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysteryfucker420/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny, you've been on a wild ride. Somehow you've ended up on the coast of Britain in your travels, but you aren't sure which one. Fuck if you know anything about Europe. You are penniless, hungry, and American. Basically, you're a British sailor's worst nightmare. Good luck.

You’ve been out of a job for weeks.

The summer sun beats down on you without mercy. Anywhere decently shaded is off-limits to the likes of you. So, you sit on the edge of the cobblestone path against a shady bar that isn’t quite open yet, a large bowl by your feet for coins. Some passersby will toss a coin or two at you, but it isn’t enough for dinner quite yet. 

Dinner. You sigh, sinking down and letting your bucket hat fall over your face. You eat one meal a day, maybe every other day, with how charitable seaside towns are. You thought a sleepy town on the coast would be full of lovely little grandmothers with cookies to give and coins to spare... something like that. You don’t know anything about where you are though. The ports are busy, tens of ships coming in every day, maybe even hundreds in the summer. You thought you might be able to get a job scrubbing decks, but nobody wants to hire someone as scrawny as you. How will you get better if you can’t get experience? They laugh in your face when you ask them, toss you a copper piece, and leave you to roast in the heat.

Sometimes you think you see pirates. You see them singing shanties and walking down the road in groups, their swords and guns barely hidden in their trousers. You can only imagine what it’s like to fight for your life over the sea than on land. It must be so much more fulfilling. You always see them happy. They laugh the loudest when you ask for work.

Would it hurt to ask one more time? You sit back up when you hear the clicking of boots on the cobbled pathway, pulling your hat up to see a man that’s stopped to stare back at you. He smells of the ocean. His blonde hair looks bleached from the sun, nearly white, swept back from the ocean breeze. His pants are baggy and tucked into cuffed boots. He doesn’t even hide his rapier. He wears a button-up white shirt, the kind with sleeves that go down to the elbows and kind of flare out and drape over the rest of his arm. His shirt isn’t even buttoned all the way. You can see pink scars criss-crossing his chest. When your eyes finally meet his face, you’re stunned by the intensity of his eyes, crimson like blood, shining like a polished apple. Below his eyes you notice more scars, smaller, busy and crossing over each other at neat angles. They don’t fall over his cheekbones, staying tucked near his eyes. He’s probably lucky to still have them. He smirks at you, then turns and calls to one of his crewmates in a language you don’t understand. It might be Scottish? Fuck if you know anything about Britain. You’re lucky to get coins without uttering a single word. If anyone hears your accent, they grimace at you and leave you be. You keep your mouth shut as someone tosses him a mop and a bucket, and he bounces the bucket right to you. You yelp and scramble to catch it before it hits you in the face. 

“You looking for work?”

His voice startles you. It’s not deep, rugged, or scary, like you thought it might be. This man is definitely a pirate, but his voice is soft yet loud. You nod.

“Don’t say much, do ya. Come with me, we could always use a few extra hands on deck.” He grabs the bucket handle and pulls it up, your grip on the bucket pulling you up too. This is all way too sudden to be real, Why would someone literally pick you up off the street and just drag you into their ship? Suddenly your slow, hot day is moving so fast. You’re being barked at in languages you barely understand to scrub the deck, helping someone cook the food, given a mug of foaming rum and told to enjoy it.

Your bunk is nothing more than a hammock suspended over another person. You lay in it, staring at the wooden ceiling with eyes just as wide as when you first saw the red-eyed captain. You haven’t learned anyone’s names or even uttered a single word. They must think you’re mute, easy to boss around. At least you have food and a bed. You turn over slowly, trying not to tip out of your hammock, and try to sleep. Eventually you get there. 

The ship leaves the port early in the morning. Only a few hours after some of the crew got up to start sailing, the man you cooked dinner with last night wakes you up and tells you it’s time to make breakfast. You nod silently, slipping out of your hammock and-

Your heel clips the hammock below yours, sending it and the weight sleeping inside it flipping upside down. The man sleeping below you- you think his name is Alec- lets out a groan and climbs to his feet in mere seconds, gripping his face. He landed flat on it. He glares at you from between his fingers, marching towards you as you back up into a wall. You glance at the chef, who just watches with his arms crossed. Some of the other crew have started to wake up at the commotion.  
  
“You ever ‘ave the decency to watch where you step, Mute?” He growls at you in a cockney accent. You see a little trickle of blood run down his tanned face. Fuck, you must’ve broken his nose. You shake your head quickly, still trying not to speak, and Alec chuckles darkly at you. Someone runs out of the sleeping quarters, someone a little less scrawny than you, and leaves the door hanging open. You see that person talking frantically to the captain. The captain looks down through the door and, even though he’s so far away, you swear you can feel his piercing red eyes locked on you. He shouts something at Alec that makes the larger man stop and look out the door. Something gives you the feeling that, even though Alec is much larger than the captain, the captain makes him feel small. He backs up when the captain walks in, looking like he’s going to say something, drag you through the mud, but he’s cut off when the captain just stares hard at you. Finally, you speak, stammering out your words.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the apology squeaking out louder than you meant it to. Alec lets out a loud laugh.

“American! No wonder he don’t know ‘ow ta do his job.” Next the captain stares at Alec. He speaks slowly, almost unaffected.

“Go see Fef. Maybe your crooked nose will have locked back into place.” Alec grumbles, glaring at the captain, but leaves the quarters anyway. Next the captain turns to you, crossing his arms. His smirk has returned.

“So you can speak. What’s your name.”

You swallow hard. “Dan- Danny.”

“That it?”

You wait for a moment, debating if you should say your last name. You don’t really want to keep it. You nod.

“Well, Danny, you still have to help with breakfast.” The captain walks up to you and puts a hand on your shoulder, shoving you towards the chef. You stumble and find your footing by the door. The chef walks up past you and hooks an arm around yours, dragging you to the kitchen. He seems kind enough. You pull your arm away when you’re in the kitchen, letting him pull out the ingredients you need for some kind of porridge and sausages. He has a kind face, but a rough voice. He hands you a knife and a few carrots as he starts preparing the make-shift stove.

“So,” he starts, “where you from?”

You stay silent. The chef sighs and puts a massive pot over the stove.

“We got people from all walks on board. Captain Hal ain’t one to pick and choose from nationality. Only the best, and the best is from all places.” You look up at him, quietly asking him,

“What’s your name?”

“Y’can just call me Chef, kid. Not much else to call me these days. It’s fine though. Names aren’t as solid on the sea, I tell ya, great captains come and go, their names as nebulous as the ideas they hold, but every new name could be the same guy.”  
  
You frown, starting to chop the carrots as he continues, “Captain Hal’s gone by many names. Each ship has her own crew and story to weave. I have a feelin’ you know what I mean, ‘just Danny.’” He scoops up some of your carrots and tosses them in the pot.

“..Texas,” you finally say. 

“Texas, huh? Now where’s that?”

“South.”

“Still not one for words, are ya. We talkin’ south of the states?”

“Mhm.”

“Then what’re you doin’ here?”

“...God knows.” You sigh, using your knife to slide the rest of the carrots towards Chef. He chuckles and picks up the cutting board, dropping them into the boiling water.

“I can tell ya what you’re doin’ now. You’re sailin’. Days’ll go by fast and you’ll get on, don’cha worry.”

You stay silent after that, doing every task Chef gives you. After that morning the days do go by fast. You aren’t exactly sure where you’re going but you’re excited to get there, even if you just scrub and cook. If the captain... Captain Hal... only picks the best, then he must’ve hired you for a reason, right?

The nights are loud and musical, rum passed around like candy, lanterns lit to give the boat a homely orange glow in the deep blue ocean night. You can’t say it looks any different than the street lamps over the cobblestone path, but it certainly feels different.

Are you a pirate?


	2. The Will Of The Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny, you're in for a tough day.

It’s been a few weeks since your encounter with Alec. The poor man’s nose has gone a little crooked, but it’s all healed up and he refuses to look you in the eye. You’re not sure what he’s so afraid of. 

You’ve made a friend on the ship, a dark-haired man about your height who goes by Marv. He’s actually Captain Hal’s third mate, behind Chef and someone else you haven’t talked to very much yet. Recently he’s started showing you how to actually use the ship, what all the different ropes around the sails do, the terms for locations on the ship (your favorite is “poop deck,” which is the raised area right behind the steering wheel), and some of the various phrases the ship uses. It’s pretty much another language, and you get them mixed up in your head.

This cloudy morning Marv pulled you away from Chef to tell you something. He leads you back into the sleeping quarters and sits at the end of the room on a crate, letting you sit across from him.

“So you’ve noticed there ain’t anyone who stays in the crow’s nest, right?” Marv asks you. You nod, but you never really thought about it before. Marv continues, “Well, Captain Hal told me he was considerin’ you for that position.” You hum in surprise, eyes widening slightly.

“Why me?” You ask, genuinely confused as to why you’d be chosen for anything other than mopping. Marv shrugs. 

“My guess is he just wants to see if you can do it. He might bring it up to you tomorrow.”

“I thought people were rotating using the crow’s nest.”

“They are, right now at least, but it would be better if we only had two or three people who were dedicated to it instead of the whole crew rotating throughout the day.”

“I guess...”

You and Marv talk for a while. Maybe ten minutes, discussing different things working full-time in the crow’s nest might entail. You’d have to stay vigilant nearly all day, until someone could replace you or, for some reason, you had to come down to deck with the rest of the crew. You shudder to think of doing night shifts, but Marv assures you that you’d probably prefer doing those, since you’d get to sleep during the day in order to do it. You’d have peace and quiet all night to just sit and watch the sea. 

A loud crash sounds from the deck, and you feel the ship tremble. You hear a bell ringing, and everyone still in the sleeping quarters scrambles to get on deck. You hear Captain Hal’s voice, muffled by the wood ceiling. He shouts one of the terms you can’t quite remember. You think it’s “all hands hoay,” which is supposed to mean something along the lines of “everyone gather,” but everyone’s already leaving the quarters by the time he says it. You follow behind, spotting between some of your crewmates a  _ hole  _ in the starboard railing, a cannonball lodged into the deck floor, and a pirate ship across the way. You see Hal, along with the second mate you don’t recognize. They look like they’re starting to do something, but before Hal can speak, you hear another staggering noise from the poop deck. The crew, surprised, all turn to see the enemy pirates crowded onto the raised deck. How did they get there? You prepare to run, dash to the kitchen, but you’re interrupted.

You’re grabbed by the wrist and tugged back, towards the starboard side. You pull your arm away, prepared to fight someone off, but just see Captain Hal. He speaks to you, a rare occurrence,

“I trust you’ve got your sea legs by now!” He shouts over the sudden ruckus which has started behind you, shoves a scimitar in your hands, and quickly moves past you, brandishing a flintlock pistol from his belt, and a dagger on his thigh. A young pirate- He can’t be any older than 17, dashes at Captain Hal, but goes down immediately with a shot to the chest. You wince. You always thought pirate fights were cinematic, swords clashing and witty quips being thrown at your opposition, but most of the fighters are going down in single blows. It’s really brutal, honestly. You catch a glimpse of one of your crewmates slicing almost halfway through another man’s torso. It’s loud, too. Cannons are firing, but you can’t be bothered to see who’s shooting them, the swords clashing leave metallic ringing through the shouts and groans among the ship. It looks like you’re winning this fight, though some of your crewmates are still going down. Very few in comparison to the enemy, but-

You’re thrown out of your observations by an enemy pirate swinging his sword at you. Quick on your reaction, you hold your sword out to block the blow. You push him off and swing your sword at him with both hands, the force of your blow sending him over the side of the ship. He dropped his sword into the depths, but he managed to grab onto the railing. You look over at him for a moment, see his wide amber eyes filled with fear, and slam the hilt of your sword into his hand. He lets go, screaming as he falls into the depths.

You turn around just in time to deflect another blow from a new attacker- well, you tried, but his dagger slid into your arm, slicing across your bicep. You grit your teeth and lunge at the pirate, your sword slicing through the side of his neck like paper. He falls, and you go on the offensive, adrenaline pulsing through you. You spot another pirate coming for you, but this time you make the first strike, swinging and slashing his stomach open. He drops to your feet. You start to go numb, a little out of focus. It’s one attacker after another, you know you’re taking hits, but your wounds are dulled against the cold sea air and the feeling of swords clashing. 

You killed another couple men before you heard a loud, panicked yell. Louder than the rest, at least. The strangers all start to retreat, and faintly you hear the sound of wood creaking and cracking. You turn around to witness the enemy ship, riddled with cannonballs, beginning to capsize. The rest of the pirates jump off your ship, defeated.

Your ship? You guess you’ve been considering this your home now. ...Your crewmates. These are your family and friends now, aren’t they? You did just fight a life-or-death battle with them. You shudder, your legs suddenly feeling weak. It’s so cold, you just realized how cold it is. Captain Hal is shouting at your crewmates to see Fef. You feel a growing warmth on your side, look down to see your shirt torn and bloody, with an impressive gash in your left side. Your injuries are starting to sting. Your legs give out from under you. You hear another shout as you drop your sword and collapse onto the deck. Then everything goes dark.

  
  


You wake up lying in a room you haven’t seen before. With the angle your head is at, you can see a wardrobe next to a bookshelf, stuffed full of books in varying states of tatter. You groan as the aching pain rolls over you in waves, and you start to sit up, a hand over where you were slashed in your stomach. You feel a hand on your chest push you down, and when you look up to see who it belongs to, you’re suddenly met face to face with those shockingly red eyes again. It’s Captain Hal. This must be his quarters. You look down to your wound, absently noting that you aren’t wearing your shirt anymore. It’s all bandaged up, and you realize Captain Hal must have done it. You look up to him in obvious confusion. He tilts his head, reading your face.

“We have lots of wounded. Feferi was busy, and I couldn’t risk losing our future watchman, so I stitched you up. You don’t have to thank me.”

You thank him anyway. He runs a hand through his hair and sits on the edge of the cot you’re lying in. Captain Hal looks down at you, his eyes lidded, but expression otherwise neutral. He seems to size you up, like he did the first time he saw you, his eyes resting on your chest. He reaches down and puts a hand over your solar plexus. His fingers run up, over a thick, vertical scar that sits there. “What caused this?”

“...I was young. Don’t remember well.” You remember. You remember the training your brother put you through when you were barely a teen. You remember the searing pain as his sword passed through your torso, clean through to the other side, barely missing your spine or vital organs. You remember how, when you were hazy and barely awake, the nurses said you wouldn’t make it. You remember how your brother didn’t seem to react. You watch Captain Hal, wondering if he’ll catch you out on your lie.

“Hm. Looks serious. I saw a matching one on your back.”

“Like I said, I don’t remember...”

Hal just stares at you. You know it’s a long shot, even if you didn’t remember what happened to you, odds are someone would have told you at some point. After a moment, he sighs. “Alright. Stay there a while. You need some proper rest. There’s a storm coming.” Hal gets up, moving around a small desk and staring out the foggy glass behind it. He pulled no stops making his quarters as pirate-y as he could. 

After a moment of silence, you pull in a shaky breath. You finally ask, after all these weeks,

“Where are we going?”

You get no response for a while.

“The sea.”

**Author's Note:**

> i love you hal <3


End file.
